Chapter 145-plan
Darkness had long become a constant companion for Janet. She no longer bothered to check the time—what difference did it make anymore? At the same hour each day, a maid would come in with warm soup or nourishing herbal tonics, all carefully arranged under Charles’s instructions.
At first, she resisted. But gradually, that resistance faded, worn down by silence and fatigue. Even when her stomach could no longer hold the bitter brews and forced her to vomit, she still drank them—because in her heart, she wanted to bring his child into this world safely and healthily.
Day and night had lost all distinction. Her world was confined to a room, and the only thing she longed for now was a fleeting glimpse of him. But even that simple wish proved difficult to fulfill. She saw him less and less. And when she did, it was only in the quietest hours—when he believed she was fast asleep.
Only then would she turn toward him in the dark, tracing his features with trembling fingertips. She knew every contour of his face so well, she could draw it with her eyes closed.
"You’ve been so good lately, Janet," he whispered one night, his voice low and almost trembling. "Can’t we go back to the way things were? I’ll love you, just like before. Always."
To Charles, her calmness looked like surrender. And in that surrender, he saw hope—hope for reconciliation, hope for a future, hope for forgiveness.
He took her hand gently, lifting it to his lips. Then, almost instinctively, his other hand moved to her stomach. It had become a nightly ritual, as though he needed to confirm again and again that the life within her was real, that this second chance hadn’t slipped away.
Perhaps it was the gentleness in his tone, or the vulnerability in his touch—but Janet, who had fought so hard to keep her distance, found herself collapsing into his arms, overcome by a sorrow she could no longer hold back.
Tears welled up and slipped from the corners of her eyes, though she knew she shouldn’t cry. Not now. Not in her condition.